


02:25AM

by hyuckduck



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: (because that is the concept we all deserve), Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, also wtf is a bias in this group smh, and for some reason poly!maknae line turned out to be the most angsty, another concept we all deserve, crying violently bc i love svt with all my tiny grinch heart, i wrote this shit in four hours omg, idk what to ship in this group everythings so good??, jicheol are dysfunctional, jihan are still soft and in love, junhao are on a road trip, meanie are still sad, right so about this story, seoksoon are soft and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 17:26:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12964587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyuckduck/pseuds/hyuckduck
Summary: a series of unconnected stories about some of my favorite seventeen ships written to whatever song i was listening to at the time:1. YOU by 11:11 - mingyu/wonwoo2. idfc by blackbear - jihoon/seungcheol3. hold me by the heart by kehlani - jisoo/jeonghan4. tomorrow, today by jj project - minghao/junhui5. moon u by got7 - soonyoung/seokmin6. don't wanna cry by seventeen - hansol/seungkwan/chan





	02:25AM

  1. **11:11 – YOU [wonwoo/mingyu]**



Thinking ‘bout you.

(Are you thinking ‘bout me?)

∞

There’s the park by the building they’d first met in. He drives past that one with his eyes locked on the bench, trying not to imagine summer with melting vanilla ice cream and the dogs that always bark at nothing. He tries to forget how exhilarating it was, to talk to the pretty stranger with a sharp smile and cat-like eyes. Tries to forget how fast his heart stuttered when he remembered seeing the boy laugh for the first time. Tries to forget how he’d said his name the first time, how it settled on the tip of his tongue like a blueberry candy. ( _You’re good company, Wonwoo._ ) Tries to forget how he’d replied. ( _You too, Mingyu._ ) It frustrates him to death that he’s still thinking about it when he drives past it.

The record store they’d gone on their first date to. The one advertising the Eagles on vinyl, as if anyone used those anymore, unless it was for aesthetic purposes. Mingyu had picked a CD from the hip hop rack, _The Real Slim Shady,_ and given it to Wonwoo with a slight smile. Wonwoo had given him a Stevie Wonder CD, the one about boxing and sealing and delivering. (He can’t remember anymore.) Wonwoo speeds past that one. Too many good memories that turned sour.

There’s nothing left to say about them, not really. There’s just regrets, like aged wine or hard liquor that burns, and it leaves him searching for closure that he knows he’ll never get. He’s thinking of Mingyu. He’s thinking of his smile, his pretty words, his gentle hands, and his warm skin. The way he says Wonwoo’s name, a hazy exhale mingled with fondness. His messy hair and eyes that reflect the sky. His slow kisses once the night’s gone and everything is quiet. It settles, deeply, that he’ll never have any of that anymore.

(He wonders if Mingyu is thinking of him too.)

And maybe it’s a little sad, to drive by the city and watch the lights blur together because he feels like he has nothing left to let his heart beat for, but it’s the only way he can force himself to feel anything these days.

∞

  1. **idfc – blackbear [jihoon/seungcheol]**



I act like I don’t fucking care.

(Because I’m so fucking scared.)

∞

His thoughts eat him alive, festers into his head like an ugly spider and lays its venomous eggs into his brain. Whispers in his ear, tells him what he doesn’t want to hear. ( _You’re just a convenience to him, nothing else._ ) Claws at his skin and tells him everything he’s trying to avoid. ( _He’ll never love you back._ ) The thoughts are tinted red and settle into the crevices of his thoughts like monsters and skeletons temporarily falling into his closet. They’re the things that keep driving him insane, the things that make him curl closer to Seungcheol even though he knows he’s not supposed to.

It’s dawn and there are vodka bottles on the floor, pills occasionally scattered on the bed. Jihoon stays still and watches the curve of Seungcheol’s face when he turns to look at Jihoon, cheek pressed against the bed and the rest of him facing up. His lips part. (Inhale, exhale.) There’s eyeliner running down his cheeks and his eyes are bloodshot and red. He stares at Jihoon and smiles slightly. ( _It’s a lie_ , Jihoon’s demons remind him, _he’s still high and has no idea what’s going on. He’d never smile like that if he was sober._ )

“Hey,” Seungcheol says. He’s a pretty boy, lips soft and hands gentle and eyes warm, except Jihoon has no idea what he looks like when he is sober.

“Hi,” he ends up replying, and wishes he didn’t feel this much for him, wishes it was easier to not care instead of having to pretend.

∞

  * **hold me by the heart – kehlani.**



Hold me by the heart.

(Tell me I’ll be whole again.)

∞

In the four weeks they spend doing all these stupid things to feel better about themselves, the only productive thing either of them do is when Jisoo teaches Jeonghan how to play the guitar. He teaches him how to hold the guitar, ( _like it’s your baby,_ ) how to pick the strings and how to tell the chords apart. It’s a shitty way to learn something new, while Jeonghan is almost done with his post-break up crisis and Jisoo is the self-assigned guardian angel, but it’s something anyway.

Jisoo plays all these old songs he likes. Radiohead, 1975, some pop songs he remembers learning in high school. Jeonghan watches him slumped over the guitar, fingers on the strings, and thinks that he could get used to this. It’s raining outside, (hence why they’re inside, or else they’d be in the beach doing something stupid to get their minds off whatever’s bothering them) and it does something warm to him, to listen to whatever Jisoo plays even though he listens to him every other day. Jisoo isn’t amazing with words, but he’s good with his music. He’s good with saying things he can’t say with his guitar.

And he’s pretty. Soft, brown hair falling over his eyes, eyes locked on either the floor or his hands. (He says it helps him focus.) His quick, slender fingers dancing on the string. Shining eyes when he looks up to smile at Jeonghan occasionally. The way his lips curl up when Jeonghan messes up and he says, “It’s alright, just try again,” and the way he fixes his wrist. It’s nice to be away from everything. To get away from the memories and his own thoughts, to sit back and watch Jisoo create magic.

They’re midway through Twinkle, Twinkle, and Jeonghan keeps screwing some parts up. Jisoo bends down and adjusts the guitar and grins at him. And like that, while the rain slams against the window and the residual sunshine from earlier the day shines in Jisoo’s eyes, Jeonghan pats him on the cheek says, “Thanks for everything.”

And Jisoo, bright blue sky and heavy rain and everything that gave life meaning, smiles even more and says, “You’re welcome.”

∞

  1. **Tomorrow, Today – JJ Project [junhui/minghao]**



If you could see what tomorrow holds for us,

(I’ll tell you which way to go.)

∞

(It was, surprisingly, Minghao’s idea to take the car and disappear for a while. They lock the apartment and pocket the keys, throw all the stuff into the backseat with the carelessness only the newly independent have and pick a location on the map. Junhui volunteers to drive and Minghao keeps track of what they listen to, switching between the 6AM news and Bryson Tiller’s mixtape, and he talks a little in between just because he wants to. He keeps his hand splayed on the gearshift and hums along to the songs and looks the happiest he’s looked in a long time.

Minghao convinces him to drive three hours to the nearest beach and they spend the whole of the morning in the water, splashing around and laughing like they’ve aged backwards a few years. Like they’re seventeen and back in China, salt on skin and brushing sand out of each other’s hair and sneaking kisses behind rocks when their parents were too distracted to look for them. Its empty there: no one comes to the beach at the morning and even less stay to admire the scenery. Minghao skips rocks and collects shells and screams when he thinks something’s bitten him, (false alarm: he’d just accidentally touched a rock and thought he was dying) and it’s freeing to be there, on the sandy banks with him. He makes the sky more colorful, makes the sea more unpredictable, makes time more languid and graceful, like a lover’s dance at midnight.

He makes it worth it.)

**∞**

  1. **MOON U – GOT7 [seokmin/soonyoung]**



When I see you, you’re smiling back at me.

(Smiling shyly, I always wait for you.)

**∞**

Seokmin begins to look for Soonyoung in the night sky even though he knows he won’t smile down at him. He begins tracing the outline of his face on the stars, dotting them together with his fingertips, like the non-existent sketch will eventually appear. Begins to look for him when the wind whistles and disappears, begins to smile softly when he remembers that Soonyoung’s voice sometimes sounds like the whisper of the ocean at night. The verses he used to write on the back of his book, the _please look at me like I matter_ turns into _I want you to look at me like I matter_. _I wish you were here_ turns into _I can’t wait to see you again_.

It becomes very apparent that Seokmin falls in love, and Seokmin falls hard.

He has this specific smile for Soonyoung. It doesn’t burst at the seams or curl downwards when he looks away. His smile remains permanent, stuck on his mouth, and he doesn’t stop grinning for hours when he sees him. He skips, hums happy tunes and sometimes, his eyes shine when he looks at Soonyoung. It’s the purest, most chaste kind of love. A love that didn’t run too deep, but a love that touched and graced his heart like a gentle harmony.

They watch the night sky together on the hood of Seokmin’s elder brother’s car with cigarettes hanging from their mouths. Seokmin hums bits and pieces of songs he has yet to turn into complete works and Soonyoung listens, head towards the moon even though his eyes are closed. Seokmin watches the moon and watches its shimmering shine on Soonyoung, and thinks that he could get used to being this way, love drunk and drowning in the moonlight.

∞

  1. **Don’t Wanna Cry – SEVENTEEN [poly!maknae line]**



(Don’t play around,

I know you’re still there.

∞

“I’m leaving,” Seungkwan said.

Chan could see that. There wasn’t a single thing in his room that indicated that he’d ever even been there. All his books, from the ones about medicine to the ones that were about princesses and their knights, were all in boxes and on a plane to Hong Kong, arranged neatly in alphabetical order so that he wouldn’t confuse them. The hairbrushes were gone from the table. He had six of them. One from each one of the guys. His closet was completely empty. The stuffed toys they’d all gotten him from the carnival were gone too.

“Shut up,” Hansol said, leaning against the doorway behind Chan, and he’d been trying his best to grin but all of them could see that it didn’t reach his eyes, “bring me back something nice when you visit, I guess.”

“Me too,” Chan added, because he really didn’t want to force out the words _goodbye hyung_ and watch him leave.

Seungkwan grinned. Chan had always known Seungkwan was pretty – he noticed a lot of things, actually – but he’d never looked this close and yet so far in the whole time Chan had known him. It made him look away.

“Hm,” he said, eventually, and reached over to hoist his bag over his shoulder. It had the stuffed toy Chan had won him, affectionately named Aria by Seungkwan, (because she was his favorite Pretty Little Liar) stuck on it using a glue gun and a fake bandage wrapped around it.

Chan moved to let him through. Seungkwan grinned and ruffled his hair and Chan very carefully smiled back. Hansol watched them fondly, arms crossed with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and he, too, moved. Light filtered in through the window. Dawn breathed and curled itself into the crevices of the apartment. It felt like something would change if they watched him leave.

Seungkwan stopped at the door, suitcase in his left hand and his right hand on the strap of his backpack.

“I –” he started, and Chan could see the words forming on his tongue even before he had the chance to say it.

_I’ll miss you guys._

Hansol reached over. He always seemed to read the air so well, always seemed to know what someone wanted. Chan watched his fingers connecting to his palm, his palm to his wrist, his forearm, his elbow when he hooked his arm around Seungkwan’s neck and pulled him close. He could pinpoint the exact moment all the tension bled away from Seungkwan’s shoulders: his eyes closed immediately and his hands curled around Hansol’s waist, and for a moment, everything stilled into silence. It was just the two of them, like two separate entities who had once been separated that had been stitched together with fate’s finest threads. Chan wanted to look away, but he was fixated on the way Seungkwan went completely still and pliant and how Hansol closed his eyes and _breathed_ properly for the first time since he was told Seungkwan was going away. It made his eyes sting and his throat thick with emotion.

It was intimate and soft and everything that terrified Chan.

“We’ll miss you too,” Hansol finally said, and Seungkwan’s eyes locked on Chan’s over his shoulder. Chan could tell that Hansol was more affected than he let on because his voice was shaky and his eyes were probably locked on the photograph of the three of them on the wall. Hansol laughed. “We’ll miss you so much, you have no idea. Promise me you’ll call?”

“I will,” Seungkwan promised, but his eyes were still locked on Chan’s and it made Chan’s stupid heart stutter and fall and crash against the spaces between his ribs, made him dizzy and pathetic and made him want to run away. “Hey, you can let me go now.” And then, smiling slightly, “I want to hug Chan too.”

Chan could have said no. He could have said that he didn’t really want to, but something in his chest settles and he thinks, _don’t run away, embrace it_. Hansol lets him go, and moves over, and anyone else might have been upset, but he’s looking at them with nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes that sometimes puzzled Chan. _What do you want? Who do you look at with so much love and affection and trust? Is it me, or is it him?_

_Or is it both of us?_

Seungkwan rested his head on the top of Chan’s hair. His arms were nice and comfortable and reminded Chan of the comfort of a home he hadn’t been to in six years, reminded Chan of the smell of Seungkwan’s old books and Hansol’s soft laugh and quiet nights spent in the living room with beer and indie movies. It hit him then, right there, that he wouldn’t have any of that for a long time. Not with Seungkwan anyway. It made his heart sink to the bottom of his chest.

 _Thud,_ Seungkwan’s heart went.

Chan curled his fists into the material of his shirt.

 _Thud, thud,_ his heart went.

Chan closed his eyes.

 _Thud, thud, thud,_ his heart went.

“Bye, Chan-ah,” Seungkwan said, and instinctively, Chan’s fists curled even tighter.

 _Thud, thud, thud, thud,_ his heart went.

“We’ll miss you, hyung,” Chan didn’t want to say that, but it hangs silently between the three of them like a dusty curtain.

 _Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud,_ his heart went.

Seungkwan smiled.

There were many things unsaid that day, but perhaps the loudest of them all was _don’t go_.

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't slip into the diamond life i crawled my way in and sold my soul to them  
> (bless the clap remix my son jisoo and my other son wonwoo diD THAT)


End file.
